Clear Vision
by aidan adair
Summary: Movieverse. Peter Parker reflects on his past decisions.


Title: Clear Vision  
  
Author: aidan adair (aidan@soon.com)  
  
Genre: Spider-man  
  
Disclaimer: you know the drill.  
  
Author's Notes: my first posted fic in this section; please give your honest opinions.  
  
Summary: Movieverse. Peter Parker reflects on his choices.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
There's a certain advantage to having your eyes shrouded.    
  
I was six.  My vision wasn't bad; my hearing was better.  My aunt and uncle were overwhelmed by well-wishing visitors, all who wanted to bring up my parents. Weeks of "Peter, you look so upset!" and "Cover Peter's ears, darling, he's already tearing up!" and worse, "That poor boy looks like a shot sparrow.  Just look at his eyes!"  
  
I started squinting in school.  Having problems reading.  Rubbing my eyes and leaning forward, as I observed the girl next to me doing before she came to school sporting spectacles.  Emily had very pretty brown eyes; now all you noticed were the tortoiseshell frames.  It seemed an ideal solution.  
  
A few notes home, and Uncle Henry took me to a vision test.  I lied like crazy.  As such things happen, my vision eventually adapted to that of my prescription.  Adult comments dried up, replaced with pats on the head and five-dollar bills slipped in my shirt pocket.   
  
I remember one day Aunt May had me run over to the Watson house to deliver a chocolate cake.  Mrs. Watson had left about two weeks before, and my aunt judged the timing to be sufficient enough for 'everyone to know', thus making baked goods appropriate.  I dinged the doorbell and snuck a fingerful of icing; a little redhead opened the door.  
  
"Hi," she said shyly, turning on the toes of her patent-leather shoes.  "Who're you?"  
  
I smiled at her and thrust the cake forward.  "Peter Parker.  My Aunt May said to give this to you."  
  
A shock of recognition flew into her eyes.  "Oh.  Didn't recognize ya with those."  One of those delicate fingers tapped the bridge of my glasses; I jumped and almost dropped the cake.  "Your eyes kinda went away."  
  
I swallowed hard.  "The cake's for your dad.  Here."  I handed it to her unceremoniously.  "I gotta go help back at home.  Bye!"  
  
However, the glasses were usually worth it.  They gave me a studious image, when my only real love was science; everything else was easy enough that I didn't have to study.   Science just kept providing new things to master, new skills, new discoveries: memorization of the parts of speech in grammar class didn't hold up at all.  
  
Through high school, I kept quiet.  It wasn't worth the effort to befriend people who would just eventually leave; my constant was my family.  Playing Scrabble around the kitchen table and holding Uncle Henry's ladder was far superior to hanging out at a kegger, picking up a ditzy girl.  Besides, you'd never catch Mary Jane getting drunk.  She had her girl friends; I guess they painted their nails Saturday nights.  Or she had dates with boys, with dinner and movies and dancing, but the way to get Mary Jane was not getting totally sloshed and making a pass.  Guys tried.  They limped for days.  
  
You all know about the spider bite.  Otherwise, you probably wouldn't care about all this contemplation.  My costume design was very deliberate: my newfound skills had very special specifications.  My first sweatsuit- created masterpiece did have an eyehole, I admit: there wasn't much time to devise anything simpler, and seeing is quite a big asset to winning a wrestling match.  My spidey-sense isn't exactly that keen.  
  
However, when I had the time to do it right, I glossed over the eyes.  The Green Goblin would slide back his yellow guards as quickly as he changed personas, from the deadly menace to the persuasive sophisticate.  I remained myself.  Terrified, determined, driven.  My persona never changes.  
  
As I walk away from Mary Jane, I wish I had my glasses.  I shudder to think what she could read in my gaze.   This was bound to happen: if this inevitability happened a few years prior, maybe I'd be hearing wedding bells rather than this funeral knoll.  If I had remained trusting, I wouldn't be dashing away tears.  However, the image of the hero does not play by those rules, and I refuse to be broken.  
  
I know Mary Jane won't give up on me.  I'm quietly glad she won't.  But until the time when my vision is clear, anything more will have to wait. 


End file.
